


The Hungry Beast

by Sar_Kalu



Series: The Hungry Beast [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, HP!MOD, Harkin traumatises Haymitch, Strong themes of violence and death, Well not really, and District 12's tributes, desert world arena, minor depictions of torture ect, no sexual themes, people actually die on-screen, short summery style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sar_Kalu/pseuds/Sar_Kalu
Summary: “Welcome to the 51st Hunger Games! May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favour!”....He stepped forwards, “I volunteer as Tribute to the Capitol.”“Your name, my boy?”“Harkin Black.”





	1. [Reaping Day, Justice Square, District One, 51 A.D.D]

It is hot.

 

The sun shines mercilessly down from overhead and beneath the sun’s rays, his skin feels like it is cracking and peeling from the harsh heat. He hates the heat. He hates the glare that the sun causes. This close to the Capitol, in their district that is paved with white cement and every building was made of steel and glass, it is always hot and bright.

 

There is silence as they wait. It’s stifling, in more ways than one. The heat presses against him like a body that is heavy upon his own. His white linen shirt is stiff with starch and sticking to his sweaty skin. He can smell the sweat on the bodies of the boys that stand beside him, in front of him, behind him. They’re nervous. He doesn’t know why. What is there to be nervous about?

 

The silence continues. He wonders if he could get away with yelling. Or screaming. Or letting out a loud fart. The silence is killing him. All this waiting is boring and he grinds his teeth as the Reaper follows the Mayor from the Justice Building, pausing to the side to exchange a few last minute words.

 

Raizen Vervain.

 

The Reaper for District One is a short, fat man with bright red and blue hair and glittering golden eyes. His skin has been died a soft pastel green that makes him look sick, while his clothes are the brightest silver that shines even brighter beneath the sun than the highly polished windows of the steel and glass buildings around them. He has to squint his eyes in order to see anything and his eyes water and a slight ache sets up just behind his frontal lobe, centring just between his eyebrows.

 

“Welcome!” Raizen exclaims loudly and joyously, “welcome! To the Fifty-First Hunger Games!”

 

He smiles wolfishly as the Reaper gesticulates broadly, his arms wide and sweeping in his greeting. For District One is favoured beyond all. They are the bedazzlers, the providers of the luxury that all Capitol dwellers relied on. They are the providers of beautiful objects and clothing and the Capitol knows this. Without District One there was no fashion parade, no gold, no jewels, no glitzy, shiny things. District One, if it were to be distilled into a word, is: wealth.

 

But such wealth is both a boon and a nightmare.

 

District One never lacks for food or entertainment, true; but they suffer the heaviest Peacekeeper presence aside from District Two, which provides security for the Capitol. With such a large presence of military and security, the people of District One had to be exceptionally careful about appearances. Specifically - appearances towards the Capitol, and their gratitude towards their apparent favour.

 

Hot and heavy, the sun shone on his dark head. His overly-starched shirt collar rubbed uncomfortably against his neck. He was the only one entered into this years Hunger Games. He was expected to volunteer. He would do so to avoid the retribution of his peers.

 

He’d lost the bet and he would pay it with his life. One way or the other.

 

“Welcome to the 51st Hunger Games!” The Reaper was a genteel man dressed in lime green and navy blue, one half of his face striated with gold paint, the other, swirled with red. He looked like a dogs breakfast. “May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favour!”

 

The crowd clapped politely, some of the more loyal families letting out cheers. But no one forgot that this started the period of mourning. The other districts may well have claimed One to be the first of the Career Districts, teaching their children to fight and defend themselves. But that never stopped District One remembering that this was a day of pain, death and suffering.

 

They would be loosing two of their own.

 

“Let us start with the girls!” The Reaper announced cheerfully, swivelling his head to stare at the long line of 15 to 18 year olds, his yellow eyes anticipatory of their volunteering. District One was the favoured district, and with reason. They almost always won.

 

“I Volunteer!” A girl, no older than sixteen stood firm, her eyes a glassy blue with long brown hair. The daughter of the 48th Hunger Games winner: Effie Snow.

 

“Your name, dear?” The Reaper is pleased as punch that Effie has volunteered, his yellow eyes gloating and victorious.

 

“Effie Snow,” the girl replies. He knows, that like him, she’d been taken as a child and shoved into the School. Trained for this moment. A true tribute with no ties to the community. For District One, it was better this way.

 

“And the boys?” Expectation was rampant, yellow eyes turned to him, staring like a hawk at a mouse.

 

He stepped forwards, “I volunteer as Tribute to the Capitol.”

 

Overly formal, but it got the message across. He joined Effie on the platform, his eyes sweeping the crowd of townsfolk staring up at them. They were contrite, apologetic even. It didn't matter. In the end, one or both of them would die.

 

“Your name, my boy?” The Reaper is immune to the solemnity of the moment, gleeful that he had the easiest and cushiest reaping gig.

 

“Harkin Black.”


	2. [Day Five, Training Rooms, Capitol City, 51 A.D.D]

Standing at the wildness training table, Harkin nimbly tied a string of snares together, impressing the trainer with his knowledge. Beside him the boys from Two and Three attempted to mimic his movements, they’d stuck to him like glue. Nominating him as the Career Pack Leader. Effie had joined up with the girls, sneering at the Morphlings from 6 and the pathetic duo from 12. Effie had never been compassionate. But then, neither had Harkin.

 

“Black,” it was the girl from 5. Harkin hadn’t bothered to learn their names. It was better not to; To not grow attached. It would allow him to move on from the Hunger Games should he survive.

 

Sometimes, ignorance truly was bliss.

 

“Yes,” his voice is curt. A light baritone that was unlike anything found in District 1. But then, all Volunteers from 1 were descended from the winners of past Hunger Games. It explained his exotic colouring. His emerald eyes and black hair. Hair that had given him his last name.

 

“I want to join your alliance,” her eyes were dilated. She was attracted to him. Harkin nodded shortly. Playing the strong but silent type. He wasn’t, but it was better that they thought he was.

 

“As you wish,” Harkin answered, returning to the training table. He felt, more than he saw, the girl from 5 join the duo at his elbows. The trainer had watched the interaction curiously, clearly running some kind of betting ring.

 

Some days it didn’t pay to get out of bed - while others could make you a great deal of money. Such was life.


	3. [The Testing, Training Rooms, Capitol City, 51 A.D.D]

“Harkin Black!”

 

Harkin stood, beckoned by the cool voiced announcer and led to the double doors that stood between him and the score that would mark him as a contender in these games. Tomorrow would be the interview where he would be picked apart by the presenter before an audience of millions. Today was about appearing as vicious and cold as possible.

 

He stalked into the steel grey room, ignoring the group of fat men and women watching him as he snatched up a heavy handled spear with sure hands. Weighing it in his right arm, he whipped it back and then let fly, pinning the dummy in front of him to the wall.

 

Bending slightly, he snapped up a sickle-moon axe and flung it sideways. It spun rapidly, horizontally, colliding with three targets but missed the fourth. The heads of the dummy’s rolled macabrely on the floor, their painted faces expressing their horror and fear at their predicament.

 

The fourth dummy was skewered with an arrow, the silver weight glinting in the dull light.

 

With swift movements, Harkin charged at the ropes and swings, performing insane acrobatics while juggling three daggers, before skidding of the top of the highest wall and landing in a crouch. With sure movements, he slung the three daggers and sunk them dead centre of a target, barely a quarter of an inch between them.

 

The bell rang and Harkin turned to the men and women watching, and smiled slyly.

 

That night he watched the screen reflect his achievements, a solid 11 shining next to his name.

 

Effie scowled, her own respectable 7 pathetic in comparison.

 

All the while, Harkin smiled.


	4. [Interview Day, Studio HG, Capitol City, 51 A.D.D]

“No,” Harkin determined, his eyes fierce. “I refuse.” His stylist was trying to force him into a black suit with a bright pink shirt and silver tie. Harkin, however he might have been from District 1, refused to play these silly games. “Black shirt, black tie, black suit.”

 

After a further five minutes of arguing, the woman complied; if only to shut him up. He dressed silently, there was a time for talking, and no matter what his mentor had told him, he refused to play nice with the woman who was dressing the dead. Even if he’d yet to die.

 

Effie stood equally silently beside him, her dress a brilliant white that emphasised her platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes. With the string of glittering diamonds in her hair, Effie looked like an ice princess. While Harkin, dressed completely in black from head to toe, looked severe and sombre. They were at odds with each other.

 

Business as usual then.

 

The Presenter, Caesar, called Effie on stage, his blue hair and eyes matching his blue silk suit and tie, as he bowed low over gracious Effie’s hand, pressing a lingering kiss to it. Effie blushed, her eyes twinkling with innocent delight as she allowed him to hand her into her seat. Harkin wasn’t fooled, Effie was a right bitch when she needed to be. You didn’t survive the School if you weren’t.

 

The talk between the two was light and distracting, Effie portraying herself a young princess, innocent and sweet. He watched as her Mentor’s phone buzzed constantly, the man writing down sponsor after sponsor. After a year like last decade, when unsuspecting 12 won the Second Quarter Quell, the audience was expecting big things this year. That District 1 would target the previous years winners and shred them alive. Or so Caesar portrayed it.

 

Then it was his turn. He stood, scanning the room with a superior expression, eyes alighting on the traumatised District 12 Mentor, and loped up the stairs, playing the charming prince as he kissed Effie’s cheek. Her blue eyes flashed with rage as he did so, knowing that the sponsors were going to love it. Sure enough, the Audience went wild. Cheering and yelling with abandon.

 

Harkin smirked.

 

“Harkin Black, you dog!” Caesar laughed, slapping his arm lightly. “Do you have designs on your district partner then?”

 

Harkin allowed a small smile to cross his face. “She is very pretty,” it was a non answer, something to keep the audience begging for more. He’d cleaned out everyone during the crowd manipulation class. It had been easy. “As are you, Caesar,” flirtation came easily to him. He was naturally charming.

 

“Oh you,” the young host laughed, blushing vibrantly. It was Caesar’s first year hosting the Hunger Games, he was particularly vulnerable to flattery. “How are you, Harkin; I can call you Harkin, can’t I?”

 

Harkin smiled genteelly, allowing his eyes to warm. “Of course, Caesar, nothing would give me greater pleasure.” He smiled a bit wider, meeting the eyes of the audience. “As to how I am, well I am well of course. I’m in Capitol City!” The last words were a cry as he raised his arms out to the audience, standing once more, as if to envelope them into a hug.

 

Caesar laughed, “you are a charmer, aren’t you Harkin.”

 

“Only for you, Caesar,” Harkin flirted easily, smiling with just a touch of amusement. The had no idea that he was silently mocking them. Cursing them. He hated them, but he’d never let it show. His survival depended on it.

 

Caesar leant in closer, his warm eyes glittering with the promise of bigger and better things. Desire too, floated within those glossy, blue depths. Harkin smirked. “Now, tell me, is Effie correct in saying you’re a bit of a bad boy?” Caesar asked him, his tone conspiring.

 

Harkin laughed easily, “well, I have a bit of a reputation.” He admitted, “but Effie, she’s such an innocent, you know? I would never hurt anyone deliberately, of course. But, well, things can get out of hand at times, yes?”

 

Oh the irony. He’d come here to kill people younger than himself. Deliberately. And he would undoubtably be guiltless at the end, if he survived. Caesar, however, didn’t make the connection, grinning in delight as he watched Harkin. The District 1 Volunteer didn’t doubt that those blue silk pants were tight and filled with throbbing veins.

 

“Of course not,” Caesar hastened to agree, still cheerful. “So, tell me Harkin, do you expect to win?”

 

Harkin mulled the question over, knowing that the chances, one out of twenty-four, were slim. However, unlike most, he’d been training for this his whole life. If he didn’t die he would join the rest of the male tributes at the School running the next lot of volunteers ragged. Frankly, he was glad he wasn’t female. As a female he’d be forced to bear some Capitol scum’s brat. As his mother had been forced to.

 

“I’d like to,” he finally replied, honestly enough. And he would, but at the same time, being bred to kill and fight had its downsides. “But until I get into the arena, I can’t say for sure.”

 

Caesar didn’t look happy with his answer, it lacked the vibrant quality of their previous dialogue, but Harkin couldn’t bring himself to care. “Are you worried about competing, Harkin?”

 

Harkin cocked his head, smiling tightly, “of course not Caesar, I’ve been looking forwards to this my whole life.” The alternative for potential tributes in District 1, who were not called up, was death. Harkin had never fancied being murdered in his bed because he’d never been nominated to volunteer. “I mean, come on, its the Hunger Games!” Harkin was back to smiling widely. “Glory, glory to the Capitol!” He shouted, pumping a fist into the air.

 

The bell sounded, his time was up.

 

Harkin stood, hugging Caesar briefly and smirking as the older man pressed his lips to Harkin’s neck, and left the studio. His Mentor, a woman with tired eyes and broad hips, met him at the bottom of the stairs. She said nothing as she guided him passed the District 12 Mentor and into the lifts.

 

As the doors closed with a quite ‘snick’, she turned to him and smiled slightly. “You have sixty-four sponsors.”

 

Harkin smirked.


	5. [Day One: The Blood Bath, Hunger Games, 51 A.D.D]

He stood on his platform. The sun beat down on his exposed neck and arms. The entire arena was a barren waste land of rock, sand and heat. Water would be a precious commodity here. As would shelter. In front of him was the Cornucopia, it’s metal shell gleaming in the light. A dangerous beast waiting for the unwary soul to sneak inside.

 

The cannon blasted.

 

He hit the ground running. His long, fifteen year old legs giving him a distinct advantage over his competitors. He reached the Cornucopia. Glad for the respite from the heat, he grabbed a large sword, spinning around and skewering the boy from 8. Blood spurted from his chest wound, coating Harkin in its sticky warmth. Like a river it gushed over his hands, making the swords grip slippery and hard to hold.

 

Shaking the kid loose from the six handspans of sharpened steel, Harkin then leapt, with abandon, onto the duo from twelve. He knocked them out, there would be time enough later to deal with them. Fierce green eyes then turned onto the girl from 7, only to watch as Effie fell upon her like a ravening dog.

 

A sting to his arm announced the arrival of his back ups, 2 and 3. The body of the thirteen year old girl from 8 at their feet, her neck at a funny angle and a knife in her hands. Harkin grunted as he picked the blade up and stuck it in his heavy military style boot.

 

Effie had the girls ringed around her, their arms crossed as they watched the three boys grab the two twelvers by their arms, the two kids heads rolled around on their shoulders. Harkin shoved the girl from 12 into 2’s arms, stalking into the Cornucopia and rooting around in the bags. Within moments he’d found what he was looking for: long white, braided rope. With a smile, Harkin returned outside, noticing that Effie had her girls sinking metal stakes into the sand.

 

Harkin smirked dangerously, sinking to his knees beside the twelvers and looping the rope about their wrists and forearms, twining it to the stakes and fastening the duo tightly to the metal posts. Once he was done he took a step back, grasping a knife in his hand and smiled at the slowly wakening pair.

 

“Hello my darlings,” his smile wasn’t pretty.


	6. [Day Four, The Hunger Games, 51 A.D.D]

It was already becoming dangerous for them, he thought as he tipped back his canteen. Licking his lips, he felt a smear of water coat them, only to evaporate just as quickly. The sands were a haze by 8a.m. 2 and 3 were seated nearby, their eyes darting between Effie and Harkin, the power play between those two was subtle but vicious.

 

The twelvers were still staked out, directly in the sunlight and any help sent to them via their Mentor was swiftly snatched up by Harkin. The Pack Leader was actually halfway amused that the Mentor from 12 had even tried to poison him. The poison had betrayed him though, smelling of almonds and sweet berries. Harkin had forced the girl from 4 to pick the envelope up, and after she’d finished thrashing in the sand, Harkin had looked up at the cameras and smirked.

 

The gifts had stopped after that.

 

Each night was the same; Harkin and his duo from 2 and 3 stalked the night. So far they’d caught the boys from 7 and 5, and wounded the duo from 10. Tonight they’d be hunting 10 and 11. The night was the best time for play, it was cooler and despite the difficulty in vision, it was safer. It was too easy to die from dehydration during the day and even easier to freeze at night. It was best to keep moving than to settle by a dying fire.

 

Looking around him as the day turned to dusk, the sky a giant purplish bruise, he could smell the signs of a fire. Looked like it would be easy to catch his prey tonight. He did ever so enjoy it when things came together. Setting out with 2 and 3, Harkin lead the pair on a merry dance through the sand dunes, one eye on the ground, the other scanning constantly for danger or prey.

 

They stumbled on the remains of the campfire by nightfall, a thousand stars wheeled above their heads while the light of a full moon bled the landscape silver. Settling on his heels, he sniffed at a rag that was charred by the fire. It smelt of copper and sickness. Harkin smiled.

 

The tracks led them west, a duo moving swiftly, fleeing the hunters behind them. One moved easily enough, the other was wounded, both bore that burden. The trio of hunters found them before daybreak, the pair were struggling up the side of a sand dune, the male breathing heavily as he dragged and encouraged his partner to ‘just keep going!’

 

Harkin, amused by the sight, let out a howl, mocking the pair that froze and turned slowly, spotting the three hunters that stood starkly against the ever lightening sky.

 

“Run, Sofy!” The boy shouted, his voice panicked.

 

Harkin watched the pair flee, an up-swelling of victory pooling in his chest. Let them run, they would not survive this night. “Looks like meats back on the menu, boys!”

 

2 and 3 whooped, sprinting down the dune side and charging after the two from 10. Harkin followed, clutching his spear tightly as he leapt over 2 who had tripped and fallen and launching himself in a flying tackle into the boy he hunted.

 

Boy 10 landed with a thud, spinning sideways, his breath robbed from his body. Harkin flipped to his feet, planting a foot upon Boy 10’s chest, grinning maniacally into the freaked out face. Bringing down his spear, Harkin slice through Boy 10’s vulnerable belly, bleeding him like a stuck pig. Stepping back, Harkin watched as the boy tried to stuff his writhing insides back into his belly, his hands slippery with blood and gore.

 

A scream followed by a cannon shot announced the death of the girl and Harkin, feeling more than slightly vengeful, turned away from the slowly dying boy, leaving him to bleed out on the sand.

 

“Lets go,” he ordered, leading his lackeys from the scene of the crime.

 

It would take two hours until they heard the cannon boom that notified them of the boy from 10’s death.


	7. [Day Five, The Hunger Games, 51 A.D.D]

He’d been sleeping fitfully, haunted by dreams of a better life, in the lee side of a dune when the voices washed over him. Groggily blinking himself awake even as he gripped the haft of the spear he favoured, Harkin smirked in vengeful delight as the girls from 6, 11, 9 and the boys from 9 and 6 stumbled over the crest of the dune. The girls from 6 and 11 had tripped and rolled down the side, their fellows laughed at their clumsiness.

 

It would be the last thing they ever did.

 

Leaping up, Harkin snarled viciously as he thrust the double leaf blade of his spear through the chest of Girl 6, while 11 watched and screamed, her face coated in her friends life blood. Spinning around, avoiding a hastily shot arrow, Harkin swung his spear around and sliced through 11’s throat and then flung the spear over hand, planting it between the shoulder blades of the fleeing Boy 6.

 

2 and 3, who had been asleep next to him, watched as Harkin was tackled by the enraged figure of Boy 9. It did him little good. Harkin snatched the knife from the boys grip and shoved it brutally up and out the Boy 9’s neck, severing his spinal chord.

 

The Girl from 9 backed away, sobbing pathetically as she watched the blood covered Harkin approach, a bloody knife cradled in one hand. Gently he took her neck and smiled, pulling her into a soft kiss that made her sob all the harder. She exhaled quietly as his blade sank into her soft skinned belly, and with a brutal tug, dragged up up until it hit her sternum with a ‘thunk’, the blade piercing her diaphragm and the bottom of her left lung. She slid backwards, tears still leaking from her eyes while blood bubbled from her lips as her chest pooled with blood.

 

Had she not been covered in slick, red liquid, it would almost look like she was sleeping.

 

And still, Harkin smiled.


	8. [The Second Bloodbath, The Hunger Games, 51 A.D.D]

Returning to the Cornucopia covered in sand, blood and gore, short two of your sidekicks should have been the recipe for disaster. Yet, as he stood in front of Effie, Harkin more than managed to project a sense of calm and expectancy - this was his true competitor, his true judge of how his training had borne out. Would he succeed? Staring deep into Effie's blue eyes, Harkin knew he would - how could he not? She was so... small. Effie watched her district partner, knowing him to be the most dangerous of all the tributes of this years Hunger Games, as he approached the duo from 12, their lives having been preserved up until now for entertainment purposes. Each night they’d been forced to sing for their supper or for any water they might have received. It would have been pitiful, had Effie not enjoyed it so.

 

They were weak now, and listless. Heads lolling on their shoulders and their skin sagging of their bones as their flesh was slowly melted away by the sun. Harkin sank to his knees beside the girl, grabbing a fistful of her hair and forced her to meet his steely eyes.

 

“It’s game time, girls and boys,” Harkin stood once more and turned to Effie, smiling coldly. “You killed the boy from 4?”

 

“He wandered in looking quite lost,” Effie replied, somehow looking immaculate despite the scenery of yellow dust that surrounded them.

 

Harkin smiled cooly, “good.”

 

“Quite,” Effie smirked.

 

“Where are your sidekicks?” Harkin asked curiously, as if he didn’t already know.

 

“Indisposed.” Was the reply, her smile brittle and cruel and Harkin remembered the trio of cannon blasts that had sounded as the sun had finally breathed over the horizon earlier this morning. “Yours?”

 

“Disposed of,” Harkin smirked, the cannon blasts for his... companions, for the lack of a better word, had sounded not quite ten minutes before Effie's. 

 

“Just us, then?” Effie smiled brutally, drawing her thin rapier-looking blade from the sheathe at her waist.

 

“As it was meant to be,” Harkin agreed, shifting his grip on his spear that had been gross to yank free of Boy 6's shoulder blades.

 

Effie lunged and Harkin ducked, spinning to the right, his blade flashing to the side long enough to cut the Girl from 12’s throat, she bled out with a gargle. Effie’s lunge had carried her past Harkin and the point of her rapier had slid directly through the temple of the Boy from 12; he died instantly.

 

Harkin allowed a brief laugh, batting away Effie’s rejoinder, ignoring the twin cannon shot that heralded a double death and knew that the Mentor from 12 would be beside himself in grief. It came with the territory; win or lose - you died either way, one was just a bit faster than the other.

 

As Harkin laughed, he felt an odd sense of deja vu, of a memory long since past that rose within him. Effie’s face seemed to shimmer and change, morphing into a masculine face that sneered at him. He lunged, his spear sliding home in her belly, even as she brought her rapier up to protect herself, the point sliding between his third and fourth ribs and nestling in his heart.

 

A wave of coldness swept him and it suddenly became hard to breath. Staggering backwards, Harkin gasped, blood bubbling in his throat and spilling from his mouth. The scent and taste of copper overwhelmed him.

 

In his dimming vision he could see Effie wrench his spear from her body, blood gushing from her mouth. As Harkin slowly died, he hoped that Effie would be unable to make it through medical.

 

And still, he smiled, the etching of his last laugh carved on his face.


	9. [Kings Cross Station, London, Date Unknown]

Harkin snapped awake with a heavy gasp, his lungs expanding rapidly, his eyes blown wide. At his side stood a tall man in a black robe, in his hand a six-foot staff topped with a long curving scythe blade, it’s double edge wickedly sharp.

 

“You return, Master,” Death observed.

 

Harkin- no, wait, he wasn’t Harkin was he? Confusion reigned as a millennia of memories crowded his mind and bled impatiently through; giving him double vision and motion sickness. Harry, that was his name. Not Harkin. He was Harry Potter, Master of Death.

 

“Are you ready for your next great adventure?” Death asked, deadpan.

 

Harry looked up at his servant and grimaced, rubbing his chest. “I died.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I was fifteen!” Harry said, dumbfounded in horror. “I _murdered_ 12 people!”

 

“More than that,” Death replied, sounding faintly amused. “You kept me quite busy, Master.”

 

Harry shot the robed figure a dry look, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

 

His sarcasm rolled over Death like water off a ducks back. “I’m glad you’re taking your job seriously, Master.” The ‘ _finally_ ’, while unsaid, was definitely implied.

 

“Could you have sent me to a _more_ blood thirsty planet?!” Harry asked incredulously.

 

“Easily,” Death agreed, waving his head.

 

“Wait!” Harry yelped as he started to fade. “That wasn’t a demand!”

 

Death smiled as he watched his Master fade from view, bleeding into black.

 

On to his Next Great Adventure. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends one of my most popular fics. Some bits have been expanded, but most remain faithful to the original. Given my current workload, I'll be uploading the sequel soon-ish, and any changes will be made either on the fly or at a later date. I'm not sure which, yet. I fail at planning all my life, tbh. Bear with me, hopefully none of it will be shite.
> 
> Cheers for reading, you don't know how much it means to me. Shoot me a review if you've got time or hit 'kudos', I more than appreciate both.
> 
> Update [20 May 2019]: the sequel to the Hungry Beast, called the Hungry Beast: Uprising, has been uploaded and will continue being uploaded over the next few weeks. However, please note, that it has been rated Mature and unless you have an AO3 account you won't be able to access it, owing to the fact that it's so explicit in sexual themes and violence. Thank you for your patience and understanding.


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